The Write Off: An Enemies To Lovers Romantic Comedy (Love In 2C Book 3)

Chapter 41

Logan

“Can we blow up the rest of the balloons?”

I look down at Travis and Anna’s expectant faces. They look as though if they don’t get to blow up more, their hearts will burst like balloons themselves.

“Of course you can,” Rilla calls from the kitchen.

“Uncle Logan said we don’t need any more balloons,” Anna says, glancing at me anxiously shifting her weight from one foot to another like she has to pee.

“Pfft. The birthday boy has no say in this.”

“The apartment isn’t that big. I don’t know if we can fit a dozen people and three hundred balloons in here,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck.

“There’s only thirty in the pack.” Travis holds up the plastic bag as evidence. “We’ve only used eighteen.”

“Yeah, we have twelve more!”

“Nice math, Anna.” Travis looks genuinely impressed and his little sister glows at his compliment.

Rilla sticks her head out from the kitchen to survey the living room where there are balloons on couches and all over the floor.

“It’s looking good,” she says with a nod. “But I think it needs about a dozen more balloons.”

The kids cheer and each grab another balloon to inflate.

“People aren’t going to have anywhere to sit,” I grumble, joining her in the kitchen.

“You’re not on the party planning committee.”

“But it’s my party.”

“Yeah. So sit back and enjoy being celebrated, damnit.”

When I told Rilla I’d never had a birthday party, I was simply stating a fact, not making a request. She started planning the celebration immediately, enlisting Travis and Anna as helpers.

“At least let me help get things ready.” I take in the state of the kitchen. The party starts in just over an hour and the place looks like a bomb went off. The dining room table is piled with bags of snacks, plates, and napkins, paper streamers are half hung up on the wall, and there is a large bag of confetti that I desperately hope remains unopened.

“If you insist,” she relents. “You can help me organize the food. Everything sweet can go on the counter, and anything salty can stay on the table.”

I descend on her, scooping her up with ease and proceed to look between the table and counter, like I’m unsure what category she fits in. Finally I set her on the marble countertop, rather pleased with myself.

“That is not what I meant.” Rilla is attempting to scowl at me, but her heart is just not in it.

“You should be more clear with your directions, Ms. Pine.” My lips brush against hers and she shivers, wrapping her arms around my neck and pulling me against her.

A loud pop comes from the living room and we break apart.

“Is twenty-nine balloons okay, Rilla?” Travis calls out, causing a deep rumble of laughter to escape my chest.

“Twenty-nine is perfect, pal!”

***

Stuart is the first guest to arrive, dressed to the nines with his dapper checkered tweed coat and deerstalker hat, made popular by Sherlock Holmes. He shakes my hand as he enters the condo.

“Many happy returns to you, birthday boy.” He slaps me on the back. When he spots Rilla across the room his hands shoot to his chest like he’s just been struck through the heart. “Ms. Pine, you are a vision. A muse. I’m going use you as the inspiration for a character in my next novel.”

He’s not wrong. She looks stunning in her torn jeans and off the shoulder top. She always does.

“Given that your characters have a habit of ending up un-alived, I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not.” Rilla grins at him as she crosses the room.

His expression becomes serious as the grave. “My dear, I would never allow you to become a fictional casualty.”

“I think that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

He gives my girlfriend a grandfatherly hug and hands her a very old-looking bottle of alcohol. “For you,” he says, actually tipping his hat at her. “And for the man of the hour, the day—what the hell; let’s give you the entire weekend.”

I accept the gift Stuart passes me, carefully unwrapping the bright yellow paper to reveal a familiar hardcover book.

“Is this a first edition?” I turn the book over in my hands. It looks like the original artwork, but for a twenty-five-year-old book, it appears to be in mint condition.

I already own two copies of Death Trap. One is the beat up paperback I’ve had since I was fifteen and the other a re-released tenth anniversary special edition. It was the first book Stuart published and the first of his that I read. I’ve read it at least a dozen times since then; I could probably recite it from memory.

“No. It’s the first edition. The first copy off the press in nineteen-ninety-eight.”

I balk. “I can’t accept this, Stuart. It’s too much. And it’s yours.”

“It was mine. Until I gave it to you. Thirty seconds ago.” He shakes his head and tuts at me. “Your memory is worse than mine. Rilla, are you certain he’s the one you want?”

The bright smile she gives me goes right to my heart. I may be turning thirty-three, but somehow she makes me feel like a tongue-tied teenager.

“Oh yeah,” she grins. “He’s it for me.”

I’ve always been aware of my privilege. I come from a wealthy family, had a first-class education, and have never had a lack of opportunities. But this is the first time in my life I’ve truly felt fortunate. To have someone I’d give up anything and everything for, and to have her looking at me the way she is right now.

So goddamn lucky.

“Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me,” Stuart sighs and gives me a shrug. “Where are the mini detectives?”

As if on cue, Anna calls from the kitchen, “Uncle Logan, do you have a fire extinguisher? No reason.”

Anna and Travis have banned me from the kitchen, telling me they’re working on something top secret that is definitely not cake-related. Rilla is already on the move saying “I hid the matches, but just in case, I’ll take care of it!” She jogs into the kitchen.

Confident in both my girlfriend’s ability to tame my pyromaniac niece and that nothing is actually on fire, I turn my attention back to the book. It looks like it just came off the press. Not a single scratch on it. I’m sure if I slipped off the glossy cover I’d find a perfect, crease-free spine. Carefully, I lift the front cover, running my hand over the smooth blank paper. I turn to the title page and find an inscription.

To Logan,

The finest editor and best friend a man could ask for. You’re the son I never had but always wanted, and I’m so proud of you.

Stuart

My throat tightens and I swallow hard. The uncommon, but unmistakable sting of tears makes me blink several times. I haven’t cried since the night we lost Eric. I open my mouth, but the words don’t come.

Stuart appears to be battling his own emotions. He rubs the back of his neck, his eyes on the floor.

I don’t know how to respond to such a beautiful gift, and I’m not just talking about the book. He’s been a mentor and friend, and more of a father than Dr. Carmichael ever was.

Not knowing the right thing to say, I do what feels right, stepping forward and putting my arms around him.

“Thank you,” I say.

“No, thank you.” His voice is a bit more hoarse than usual. He claps me on the back just as there is another knock at the door.

“Hey. The fun people have arrived,” Callum says when I open the door. “And we brought Josh, too.”

Maggie, Betty, Callum, and Josh all pile through the door, each one stopping to give me a hug and congratulate me on turning another year older. I don’t think I’ve received so many hugs from this many different people since…well, ever.

The last to arrive are Rilla’s parents.

Tom Pine smirks when I open the door. “Look, Nancy. He’s wearing a shirt.”

Before I can formulate a response, Rilla’s mom has wrapped her arms around me.

“Happy Birthday, Logan dear.” She doesn’t let me go, instead she squeezes me harder. Is this what mom hugs are supposed to feel like? Not the weak armed pats on the back I’ve received infrequently from my own mother. It’s as if I’m being swaddled in affection and told I’m special.

“Thank you. And thank you for coming all this way.” I still can’t believe they made the drive from Maine on a Friday evening for my birthday.

“We wouldn’t miss it for the world.” She beams at me as she lets me go and goes to hug everyone else in the room, leaving me with her husband.

After an awkward beat, he extends his hand and I shake it, gratefully. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Please, call me Tom.” He looks around the room before continuing. “I realize that I never properly thanked you for everything you’ve done for Rilla. No one wants their child to have to go through something like that, but Nancy and I both slept better knowing she had someone like you by her side.”

Just then, Rilla emerges from the kitchen with what appears to be flour or maybe icing sugar in her hair. Her face breaks out in a grin as she runs into her mom’s waiting arms, almost knocking her over in the process.

“There is no place I would rather be,” I tell him, honestly.

“Glad to hear it,” he says, then clears his throat. “After I hug my kids, do you think you could introduce me to Stuart Maxwell?”

***

Considering I wasn’t completely comfortable with a party being thrown in my honor, I have a fantastic time.

I’m almost embarrassed at the number of gifts I receive. Handmade soaps from Maggie, concert tickets from Josh and Betty. The highlight may be the personalized basketball jersey Callum gives me for our weekly league. He allows Josh to be jealous for a full minute before giving him his own.

When Rilla’s dad announces that they’re taking us to a playoff game tomorrow at the Garden, I’m officially overwhelmed.

Shannon arrives after her shift at the hospital just in time for cake. Everyone sings as Travis and Anna carry out a slightly lopsided cake with so many lit candles, it appears to be on fire itself.

“We were going to write Happy Birthday on the cake, but we didn’t have any room after all the candles were on,” Anna says.

“It’s your own fault for being so old,” Travis adds.

It takes me two full breaths to extinguish the flames.

“Did you remember to make a wish?” Anna asks when the last candle is out.

I look around the room at the smiling faces of friends, new and old. At the family who love and accept me as I am. And finally at the woman who I want to wake up next to every day, and fall asleep wrapped around every night.

“I didn’t need to,” I tell my niece without taking my eyes off Rilla. “I’ve already got everything.”